


Words That Are Unclear

by Krasimer



Category: Hellboy (Comics), Hellboy (Movies), Hellboy - All Media Types
Genre: Backstory, Because of Reasons, Fae & Fairies, Getting Back Together, Goes for the movie age of Manning, His name is Nathan Penning, I'm mixing the comics and the movies, I've had this story planned out for Years, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, Largely ignores the second movie, M/M, Manning dies, Mostly uses comic canon, Time Shenanigans, Werewolves, but he does get better, hopefully someone likes it, just a bit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-22
Updated: 2018-06-22
Packaged: 2019-05-27 00:50:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15013112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Krasimer/pseuds/Krasimer
Summary: Tom took a slow breath, deep and even, as he studied the back of his chair. When he had left, only about ten minutes before, it had been facing the desk. Now, it was turned so that it could face out the windows.Pulling the small pistol he carried with him at all times now, after the Rasputin incident, Tom stood a little straighter and waited. “You’re in the wrong office,” he told whoever it was.“Am I?” came the curious-toned voice.(“My name is Nathan Penning, Director Manning. I am your werewolf affairs liaison.” He turned his head just enough to look over his shoulder. “Good day.”)





	Words That Are Unclear

Even directors of secret ‘Save The World’ organizations have secrets.

Maybe even especially them.

Tom Manning happened to fall into that category. One of the ones behind the scenes, keeping the world safe from something it knew very little about. His temper was short, and his patience was limited but he did the best he could.

And sometimes, when he was alone at night, he remembered what he’d once had.

See, everyone involved with secret organizations has some reason they joined up – the one thing that happened that triggered their knowledge of the world around them. The thing that made them aware of the battles going on.

For Tom, it was a quiet night in a countryside, almost forty years ago. He’d been eighteen, on a backpacking trip with a man named Nathan Penning. Nathan had been nineteen.

They’d been romantically involved for three years, at that point. Quiet moments hoarded like precious gold, summer days spent together in a quiet haze, the world around them still screaming that they were sinful and hideous. They’d gone off together to escape from that, to spend more time together before they had to face daily lives again.

Be separated again.

A quiet night in the countryside had made the separation happen a lot sooner than they’d planned – it was a pity, it’d been such a beautiful setting. Rolling grass hills, pleasant weather…

…A full moon.

Nathan had managed to haul Tom away from the initial attack, the rumbling growls of the werewolf as it turned slowly and clumsily, making Tom freeze in shock. Nathan had been able to keep moving, however, and had basically thrown Tom up into a tree, screaming out when the werewolf had managed to latch vicious teeth around him and drag him off to who knew where.

God only knows where Nathan’s remains had ended up.

Tom had stayed in the tree until morning, managing to stumble back into town with wide eyes and a shell-shocked spirit. The locals had asked and he had answered as best he could –

And then there was a man named Professor Broom.

Trevor Bruttenholm, really, but the calm after WWII had persuaded him to change his name, somewhat. An anonymity of sorts, the best he could do. He had made enemies, he’d said when he’d introduced himself to Tom.

But there was the problem of the werewolf, did Tom think he could show Broom where it had happened?

That was how it began.

A scared eighteen-year-old being offered a connection to a budding organization – one that sought to keep the world in balance from the supernatural forces trying to tear it apart at the seams.

And Tom Manning grew older, earning prestige, a title, and a reputation.

 

x

 

At first, he wasn’t sure what was wrong.

Something about his office was off, that was for certain. Some subtle thing out of place in his somewhat organized mess of an office. The windows were still closed, the desk still messy, his coffee still sitting on a stack of paperwork he hadn’t managed to get to yet.

His chair.

Tom took a slow breath, deep and even, as he studied the back of his chair. When he had left, only about ten minutes before, it had been facing the desk. Now, it was turned so that it could face out the windows.

Pulling the small pistol he carried with him at all times now, after the Rasputin incident, Tom stood a little straighter and waited. “You’re in the wrong office,” he told whoever it was.

“Am I?” came the curious-toned voice.

From the tone, the bass and the notes of it, he would guess that it was a man. The chair swiveled slowly around, revealing a man with long hair pulled back into a ponytail. His face was angular and for a lack of a better word, Tom would have called him handsome. The scars didn’t make him any less so, but he was more striking than anything – piercing eyes in a shade of golden-brown set above a mouth that seemed permanently curved into an expression that said he was considering his options very carefully.

Those eyes landed on Tom and he suddenly felt very small, a prey creature sitting before a predator.

“I was told I could find one Thomas Manning, here.” The man said, his voice going softer as he leaned forward on the desk, his hands locking together under his chin. “You can check the tapes and everything – proper security clearance, papers check out, background check cleared. I am supposed to be a liaison to the BPRD. Specialist and expert in a specific field. Your office has very few places to sit except for your desk chair,” he stood and moved around the desk. “Forgive me for taking the liberty.”

He gestured for Tom to sit.

Feeling very much like the world had tilted itself upside down, Tom did so, curling his fingers through the handle of his mug and bringing it to his mouth for lack of something else to do. It was cold and he made a face at that before swallowing it and setting it back down. “Right, um,” he cleared his throat. “Sorry, I must have forgotten you were arriving today, Mister…”

The man only continued to watch him, eyes going softer as he did. “I suppose it’s hard to remember,” he said quietly. “You are the head of the Bureau, after all. So many things to remember, so many appointments to keep.”

He held out a hand, the other curled into a pocket. “At any rate, I’m your liaison with an agency that revolves entirely around the understanding and enforcement of regulations regarding werewolves. Our goal is to work alongside the BPRD and make sure that any sort of werewolf-related threat is contained, hopefully without injuring the werewolf. Given your operating history, I am certain that some things will happen in a way we do not hope for, but I am also certain we will be able to keep the number of deaths at a low.”

Tom took his hand, shaking it slowly. “Right.”

The man smiled. “Thank you for your time, Director Manning.” He said, something smothered by a placid facial expression. Quietly, he turned to walk out the door.

“I didn’t catch your name,” Tom called after him.

With a soft noise, an almost-wounded sound, the man stopped at the door, his hands clasped behind his back. “I don’t suppose I told you,” he said. “I was trying not to get in your way, as these things go. You’ve made a good career for yourself – climbed fairly high in the world.” He didn’t turn around. “My name is Nathan Penning, Director Manning. I am your werewolf affairs liaison.” He turned his head just enough to look over his shoulder. “Good day.”

And with that, he walked out of the room.

Like hell, however, was Tom going to let him leave it at that. He surged up from his chair, managing to jam his thigh into the edge of his desk and jostle everything on it. He caught the coffee cup before disaster struck and he set it down in his seat before he ran after the man who had just left.

When he caught up to him, the man who called himself Nathan Penning didn’t even have the grace to look surprised. “What do you mean, your name is Nathan Penning? The only person I have ever known with that name is _dead_ and you come in here, saying you’re him? It’s –”

‘Nathan’ had turned and pressed him gently to the wall, a steady hold that wasn’t meant to injure, only keep him in place. “Nathan Penning was attacked by a werewolf,” he said the words quietly, like he was trying to lead Tom into a realization. “I woke up about thirty miles away with large scars and a pain in my body like you would not believe. Some hunter had seen the werewolf attacking me and shot them. Killed them, too.”

All of it was said somewhat calmly, but there was an undercurrent to the words that suggested he was anything but calm.

“I spent the night in a tree,” Tom swallowed, trying to clear his throat of the lump that had formed. “Listening to your screams until I couldn’t hear them anymore.”

Tilting his head to one side, Nathan nodded. “Telling the truth. Not a malicious act.” He let go of Tom and stepped back. “I believe we’ll be able to work together, Director Manning. Your heartbeat doesn’t lie.” He clasped his hands together behind his back again.

“If you’re saying I didn’t leave you on purpose,” Tom felt a glare pinching his face down, anger rising. “I thought you were dead. I hoped you were alive when they couldn’t find anything of you, no body, no remains, nothing, but I couldn’t tell them anything other than ‘he’s my friend’ and then I couldn’t press. I wasn’t allowed to look at the unidentified bodies, I wasn’t next of kin.” His hands curled into fists at his side. “I was just a young man who had lost a friend.”

Nathan stood there, eyes wide as his entire body leaned back, startled.

“But yes,” Tom took a deep breath through his nose. “I think we can work together, Mister Penning. Have a good day.” He turned on his heel and marched back to his office, ignoring everything other than the direct path back to a room where he could close and lock the door for a few minutes. Either postpone the breakdown or give in to it.

Nathan didn’t follow him.

 

X

 

After the next briefing, Penning had stayed behind.

The whole reason he’d been sent by his agency – the werewolves they’d been thinking were trying to set up a den within New York city limits – had been explained smoothly. His expertise had been necessary and useful.

Abe had liked talking to him, had always enjoyed the professionals brought in to give him what information they could.

But the briefing had ended and Penning had stayed behind.

He leaned against the doorway, arms crossed over his chest, watching Tom’s movements around the room. “They could send someone else,” he said after a few minutes of tense silence between them. “I could tell them that our working relations are not going smoothly, they would assign someone else. I could be out of your life, quickly and quietly and easily. No ripples, just absence.”

“That,” Tom refused to look up from the papers he was shuffling. “Is ridiculous. You’re probably their best, why else would they send you? We want the best we can get. The BPRD does not get much – limited funding, operating in secrecy because otherwise we’d be viewed as lunatics, having to hide some of our agents from the world. Every time one of them gets spotted, I have to have a press conference and go on the media circuit. As necessary as it is, I actually don’t like it.” He glanced up for a second. “Whatever else Hellboy may think.”

“I am the best,” Penning shrugged. “The rest all have theoretical knowledge where I have a first-hand view. The only werewolf they have on staff. I can guide you and them through the storm of instincts and panic that happens when someone gets turned, when a pack cannot settle in territory they want.”

They lapsed back into silence and Tom once again refused to look up.

Just as Penning was about to leave, he sighed and spoke up. “You look good. For having been attacked, I mean. Handsome as ever, you look about twenty years younger than me.” He swallowed his nerves, pushed them down as far as they would go. “Part of why I didn’t believe you when you told me who you were.”

“Werewolves age slower,” Penning’s voice was soft, like Tom was the scared animal in the corner that he was trying to soothe. “Physically, I’m about ten years younger than my actual age. The other ten you’re seeing is just me taking care of myself. Exercise, diet, good genetics.” He stepped back into the room, freezing in place when Tom flinched. “You look like hell, yourself. Director of the BPRD, high-ranking FBI – your stress levels are likely through the roof.”

“My workload doesn’t allow for much free time,” Tom clenched his left hand into a fist, shoving it into his pocket. “And I usually eat at my desk.”

“…Did you ever find anyone else?” Penning’s voice cracked on the words, just for a second. “I can’t smell anyone else on you, I don’t think you’ve got anyone now, but…Anyone. You always hated being alone. I can smell traces, mostly of the agents of your bureau, but nothing is deep and ingrained in your scent.”

Tom finally looked up but didn’t make eye contact, looking somewhere over his shoulder. “Like I said, I usually eat at my desk. Not a lot of free time. Can’t keep a relationship going like that.”

He shuffled his papers into his bag and picked it up off the table. “And I didn’t want to.”

Hurrying past Penning, Tom ignored the clenching in his chest that made it feel like his heart was being squeezed by some unmerciful hand. The werewolf didn’t even try to stop him, letting him leave without so much as a word to stop him.

It felt a little bit like a kindness.

 

X

 

And then there was “The Incident”.

Tom refused to call it anything other than that – they’d been out on a mission, one of the agents had gotten torn apart, killed within seconds. Hellboy had put a big enough bullet in the thing’s brain to stop it for good before it could escape and go scrambling through the country.

But they had lost an agent and when they returned to the bureau, Penning had been waiting.

His eyes were wide and his hands were clenched together so tightly that his knuckles were white. The moment he saw Tom, he grabbed him by the collar and dragged him down an empty hallway, pressing him against the wall. Penning’s nose somehow ended up in the area of Tom’s throat, pressed to his pulse.

His hands were curled in the front of his shirt.

“Thank god,” he muttered. “Oh thank god.” He took a deep breath, shuddering and shaking. “I’d heard that an agent was dead – I didn’t think much of it at first, but then I found out you’d gone on the mission…”

Penning pulled back, eyes wide and almost haunted. “I feel awful for the death that has occurred, but I am so indescribably glad it was not _you_.” He stared at Tom for a second, his breathing still panicked, and he pressed his lips together. “Sorry.”

He slipped away through the hallway before Tom could react, disappearing into the crowd of people.

 

X

 

There was an accident, on a mission.

Tom sat in the medical bay, letting the medics patch up his arm and side – he’d gotten in the way of something big and nasty, lots of teeth and sharp claws. The claws hadn’t so much caused the injuries, however; that was more down to the wall of the cavern and the resulting fall to the floor.

He’d still managed to get a shot off.

Took out one of the thing’s eyes.

From the hallway, he could hear a commotion, including growling and the sound of something hitting the wall. The medic working on him lifted his head, turning towards the door. A couple of the others, milling around and filling out paperwork, moved out into the hallway.

A few seconds after that, a calm had settled back over the medical bay.

Tom didn’t find out until later that Penning had found out he’d been injured and had not taken it well.

 

X

 

The mission came.

The mission that Nathan Penning had been there to advise on. The reason for his return to Thomas Manning’s life.

A pack of werewolves trying to move into Central Park, having decided that they needed to be there, that it was their new territory now. Tom had gone along with the field agents, to try and keep a steady hand on their shoulders, as it were. Nathan had said something about the werewolves needing to see a person in charge, the head of the pack as it were. Mostly, werewolf packs that were unrelated by blood acted like the wolf packs in captivity – an alpha trying to herd everyone along with what they wanted.

So they needed to see someone in charge of what they would view as a competing pack.

Nathan had gone along with the field agents as well, to continue advising, to have someone who knew what the werewolves would be thinking and be feeling. Tom had watched him in the truck on the way over, seeing golden eyes flash occasionally as the man he had been so in love with as a young man turned to look at him. It was a sign of nerves, Nathan explained to the agents, grinning when Hellboy laughed, werewolves tended to partially shift when they felt threatened or nervous.

His hands curled around the bench seat he was sitting on.

That was how it had started.

This was how it was, by all appearances, ending.

The discussion with the pack had become unstable, the alpha refusing to listen to the three that were actually interested in relocation and safety. The pack was comprised of sixteen and the majority of them wanted the park as their home.

Urged on by what Nathan had told him, Tom had refused to touch his weapon as a show of good faith and non-violence.

He hadn’t been able to get it up in time to get a shot off.

Tom fell to the ground, pushing uselessly at the heavy weight of the werewolf pressed over him, pinning him to the ground as it clawed and tore at his stomach. Something squelched, a horribly wet tearing sound followed it, and Tom felt the blood draining into his throat. Around him, the agents were tranquilizing the pack where they could, shooting only to defend.

“Tom!” came a panicked cry over the chaotic cacophony of voices and growls, bullets and footfalls.

Tom had barely managed to make his head move, hands still pushing uselessly at the alpha, when a snarl much louder than any of the others rang out. The werewolf still digging into his guts went flying, a black-furred one barreling into it with the force of a freight train.

That fight was over in seconds, the black-furred wolf tearing out the throat of the alpha.

In a haze, Tom watched as the black-furred wolf ran back over to him, shifting as he ran until it was Nathan kneeling at his side. The werewolf’s eyes were wide and panicked, the overly large sweater he wore stained with still-warm blood. Tom had laughed, a little, when Nathan had shown up ready-to-go in a giant sweater and a pair of stretchy exercise pants.

It didn’t seem so funny, now.

Nathan grabbed his hand, as if that could stop what Tom could feel was coming – he was going to die. He was bleeding out, in Central Park, and he was going to die. Nathan mouthed something, chest heaving and looking panicked.

If he had to die like this, at least he was going to die with Nathan at his side.

The park was a flurry of activity around them, a chorus of voices and noises and things he couldn’t keep track of.

Nathan’s hand was hot against his own, curled tightly around his, his other hand coming up to press the wound in his stomach. “No,” his face was a wrecked mess, eyes wide and filled with a quiet horror. There wasn’t a place he could put his hand that wasn’t a blood-soaked mess of ripped flesh and torn muscle. “No no no, oh no, _Tom_ ,” his voice cracked on the name and it occurred to Tom that it was the first time Nathan had said it since they’d been reunited.

Tom choked on a bit of his own blood, trying to force words out, trying to make himself say something – anything – but it wouldn’t come out. Garbled sounds and a choking guttural noise that made Nathan wince.

“I just found you again,” Nathan whispered, holding him tighter. The blood continued to flow out past his hand and he slipped in all of it. “I just found out what you did, that you thought I was dead and I – you can’t just leave after that.”

Hellboy, Tom could see, was standing at the distant edge of the blood splatter. His Samaritan was held in his hand, knuckles pale with how tight his grip on it was. He didn’t say anything, just continued to wipe blood and gore off of himself. Thinking of how many times they had argued, Tom rolled his head to face him, his face formed into something that hopefully resembled a smile. He could understand the demon’s frustrations at being trapped inside all the time – cooped up and unable to experience the world just outside.

But humans weren’t ready, he would still get hunted down, and Tom had promised his father he would keep him safe.

He flopped his head back towards Nathan and managed to drag their connected hands closer, pressing the back of Nathan’s against the side of his nose. In the time they had worked together, he had learned that werewolves scent-marked, just like cats. Their scent glands were in the bridge of the nose and along their jaw – he hoped that Nathan would get the message.

He was old. He’d been old, even when he’d been young, and it had been the passing of time that had made his face match the state of the soul inside. If he’d had the choice, he would have lived a lifetime at Nathan’s side.

As it was, he was fifty-eight years old and Nathan still looked like a younger man and this felt like the end of the road.

Tom closed his eyes and felt his body stop responding.

And then he felt nothing at all.

 

X

 

In his entire life, Nathan Matthew Penning had only wanted a few things.

He had wanted a career that would be fun and interesting – when he was younger, he had joked about being an archaeologist – and he had wanted nothing more than access to a museum and a world of old stories he could uncover. He’d wanted stories to tell the world, not necessarily his own but maybe the stories of an old civilization that had disappeared.

Nathan had wanted good friends, had never wanted to be alone.

And, most of all, he’d wanted someone that he loved, who loved him back just as much.

He had succeeded in the career – head advisor and werewolf specialist at the institute – and he had plenty of friends. He had never once been alone, not since the night he’d been turned. Even that had been a misunderstanding, losing track and frozen in fear, they had been separated.

And when he was sixteen, he’d met a boy named Thomas Manning.

Fifteen at the time, dreaming of adventures he wasn’t quite daring enough to go on by himself, Tom had been a quiet boy that Nathan had instantly been fond of. They had become fast friends and, within a year, lovers. Partners. Boyfriends.

Whatever word could be used, that had been them.

Turning into a werewolf hadn’t even been in his life’s plans, but he felt he’d rolled with it admirably. They had been hiking around Europe, somewhere, and he’d gotten Tom to what minimal safety there was before the werewolf could attack him.

Nathan had been attacked instead.

Now, however, he stood up slowly. Hellboy, the demonic agent working for the BPRD simply stared at him, gun in hand. “I need,” Nathan took a measured breath, forcing the transformation down and away. “Some sage, some lavender, a couple of quartz crystals, and a copper wire about three feet long.”

Hellboy continued to stare at him for a minute, then nodded. “Does the type matter?”

“ _No._ ” Nathan managed to keep it merely curt instead of a snarl, his entire body shaking. His hands trembled, one of them stained with so much of Tom’s blood that it dripped from his fingers.

With a look of worry, Hellboy dug around in a couple of his pockets, dragging things out and putting them back in. It took a few seconds, but he pulled three crystals from pockets on his body and handed them over. A couple more seconds, moments passing in which Tom’s body turned cold and empty, and there were two bundles of dried herbs in his hands.

The copper came to him in the form of a spool of it from an inner pocket of the duster Hellboy wore.

“Thank you,” Nathan turned and dropped to the ground a few feet from Tom’s body, feel his eyes shifting as the wolf-half of him tried to burst through and howl in mourning. If he got this right, there would be no mourning.

He slapped his blood-soaked hand down on the grass, leaving a blotchy handprint, then dug a claw into the heel of his own palm, letting his blood drip down to mix with Tom’s.

When she appeared, her toes just inside the circle, she looked nearly murderous but Nathan did not care. “You owe me a favor,” he told her, pressing down on the instincts trying to rise. “I would like that favor transferred, Lady Apoi.”

That was the name she had given him, the name she had told him to call her.

He did not know her true name.

Hellboy shifted back and away, his gun brought up slightly in defense. The other agents were beginning to take notice of what was happening, of the commotion and the blood and the awful silence where there should have been orders.

“Transferred?” she moved around the circle and stood next to him, refusing to come down to his level. He suspected that she would not ever lower herself to meet him, nor did he think she should. “You know I can only do so much once they are dead, humanwolf. Their time runs so quickly through the hourglass, I cannot simply snatch it back. The grains of sand are too small for even my hands to grasp.”

“You told me once,” Nathan looked up at her, met her eyes. “That the days that never came were the most promising, that they were the most potent.”

“I did,” Lady Apoi glanced around at the guns being raised in her direction, unphased. He would tell them later, about having met her while looking for the cure to the disease that had changed his entire life. “What is offered?”

“All of the days that never came – the ones we should have had.” Nathan lifted the edge of his shirt up for her to see his scars. “The ones we could have had. An entire lifetime of days, shared moments and happiness, sunsets and sunrises. The infinite power held in a lifetime we never had because of a simple twist of fate.” He saw her looking at Tom and he nodded when her eyes widened. “My dear Lady Apoi – I am calling in this favor. If you can do this for me, your debt is repaid and you will owe me nothing.”

She nodded, dropping to her knees beside Tom. “I can try. I promise nothing.”

Nathan met her eyes again. “That is all I ask of you.”

In seconds, the park had filled with a violently-pink light, sparks, and lightning banishing the dark. Lady Apoi’s eyes went white, dark blue flaring out around her hands and chasing away the pink, pushing it out towards the edges of things.

“You are right,” her voice floated through the air, a storm barely contained by the flesh. “There are so many days that never came.”

Nathan’s chest heaved as he caught a flash of himself waking up to see Tom, both of them somewhere in their thirties, sleepy and happy and together in the morning. Their forties, walking a forest path together, soft wrinkles lining their faces but still so much happier and alive than they were now. A flash of a smile, of small shoes and a small jacket and small hands, one held in Tom’s and one held in Nathan’s.

A sob pulled out of him and his hands clenched in the dirt beneath them.

“So, so many days that never came,” Lady Apoi’s eyes, blind to the physical world but seeing lifetimes that had never happened – had never had the chance to happen – turned to him. A bright gold blossomed around her hands next, suffusing the body in front of her. “I can take some of those days and return them to him, now. I do have to hand it to you, humanwolf,” she shoved her hands into the torn flesh and the brilliant lights came rushing back in towards her.

“You know to call me for the big things!” she shouted as a sound like a thunderclap filled the air.

 

X

 

Breathing felt like a monumental effort.

Each heave of his chest was an achievement, like climbing Mount Everest. His entire body was in pain. Like something had attached small hooks to every inch of flesh and was tugging on them.

_“I woke up about thirty miles away with large scars and a pain in my body like you would not believe.”_

Tom gasped, trying to gulp as much air in as possible. He remembered the teeth that had been aiming for him, the dodge and the bullet and then the inescapable pain of something ripping open his gut and throat – two werewolves at once. They had ripped him apart and he…

He had died.

Nathan had held his hand and he had died.

“You’re awake,” Nathan’s voice was actually the first thing he heard. “Good. Good things.”

Managing to force his eyes open, Tom looked at him, feeling every breath and shift of fabric against skin. From the looks of things, he was in the medical bay back at the BPRD. The standard-issue hospital clothes were soft and a light green color against the white of the blankets and the sheets. Even without seeing it or knowing quite what it was, Tom could tell that something about his body was off.

Nathan was sitting in a chair next to his bed, hands clasped together and braced under his chin. “You were unconscious for two days.” He said quietly. “Before that, you were dead for less than twenty minutes. I called in someone who owed me a favor – I saved her life, before. A life for a life, favor repaid, no more debt owed.”

“…Fae?” Tom managed to get the word out before wincing back from his own voice. He sounded wrong, like something had possibly damaged his vocal cords. The tearing out of his throat had probably not done his voice any favors.

“Something like that. Lady Apoi, if you and yours ever run into her again.” Nathan’s eyes closed. “She deals in time. She likes the taste of days that never came, of lives that were never lived. She can manipulate them and change things using the energy that was never expended.”

“What did she change?”

“Your death, mostly.”

“That’s it?”

Nathan’s eyes, wide and full of fear, the same soft grey color they had always been, looked up and met his. “She could not stop the change from happening to you. She could not keep the virus from your body when it was already so deeply entrenched. But,” he unfolded himself and turned to grab something from the bedside table. “She could make you not be dead. She gave you the years you should have had – some of them, at any rate.”

He held up the object like he was trying to defuse a bomb.

The object turned out to be a mirror and it took a second for Tom to realize why Nathan was so nervous about it. The reflection, his reflection, was not the face he had seen in the mirror only a few days before.

The face he saw in the mirror was how he remembered looking at about thirty-seven years old.

Reaching out, he touched the glass.

“She told me that she gave you some extra years, to make up for how many things did not happen. For,” Nathan swallowed, looked down and away. “For how many lives were not lived.” He handed off the mirror to Tom, still refusing to look at him. “For all the days that never came. All the anniversaries we didn’t get to celebrate, all of the birthdays we missed,” his lips twitched, a small and sad smile shifting his expression. “The arrival and adoption and the raising of our daughter.”

“What?” Tom looked up at him, still holding the mirror. His hair, now growing out of his head again, was the dark color he remembered it being once upon a time. “Our daughter?”

An ache grew in his chest as he studied Nathan’s face.

“Lady Apoi showed me the life we could have lived,” Nathan whispered. “And in it, I got to watch you grow old at my side. I got to wake up to you and to sleep next to you and to watch sunsets and sunrises and go on walks and travel the world and raise our daughter with you at my side.” He chuckled. “I was supposed to be a werewolf, fate says so. But everything that happened since, that could have changed.”

“…How old would she have been, now?”

“About eighteen,” Nathan rolled his head to one side, then the other. “I think I’ll go now. Wasn’t much use, there. For all my expertise and my training and my knowledge, I still managed to get you killed. You should have a better liaison, someone who won’t get you hurt.”

Before Tom could say anything, Nathan stood up and fast-walked out of the room, letting the door slip shut behind him.

Like hell was he going to let that stand.

Tom pushed himself completely upright, ignoring the pain in his stomach as he got out of the bed and tossed the mirror down on the blankets. Next to the bed was a pile of clothing that was obviously meant for him – a sweater, some slacks, and a button-down shirt, all in colors he preferred.

He slipped the outfit on, shoved his feet into the shoes, then moved out of the room before any of the medical staff could come out of their offices and scold him for doing so. Ordinarily, Hellboy was the one getting yelled at by them, but this time he suspected it would be him if they saw what he was doing. Tom didn’t care, however, as he followed Nathan’s scent out of the room, pausing only for a second when he realized how he was tracking down the werewolf.

It seemed he had joined the somewhat affectionately named ‘Freakshow’.

Tom found Nathan standing against a wall with his face in his hands. He grabbed the man’s collar and dragged him further down the hall, quashing down the urge to laugh at how their positions were reversed now.

“What else?” he demanded quietly, looking into Nathan’s eyes.

“The reason she could save you, return your life to you, bring you _back_ ,” Nathan’s voice cracked on the word. “Was because in the life we could have had, you got turned into a werewolf at the age of thirty-seven. I saw it when she brought you back – a health risk, you got a disease that was hurting you and I couldn’t stand to see it. I brought it up and offered and we talked about it for a month and then when it came down to it, I turned you. We hadn’t gotten our daughter yet.”

He winced, trying to escape, but Tom didn’t let him. “So…In one timeline, I got turned while in the safety of my home, by my choice?” he nodded slowly. “Seems a better way to go about it.”

Nathan’s eyes were wide, a flicker of something like grief in them. “Lady Apoi had to find whatever place she could to make the two timelines meld together correctly. She figured that was the better one – it puts you at about the same age I looked, though a few years younger.”

“Alright.” Tom stood back, still holding on to him. “I can forgive you for a lot of things, Nathan.” He waited until the other werewolf’s eyes were on him, nostrils flaring as he took in whatever changes were happening with Tom’s scent. “But I need you to tell me something.”

“ _Anything._ ”

“You’ve come into my bureau, followed me at times, chased me down to make sure I was not the dead agent, made a fuss about me being injured to the point of worrying the medical staff…” Tom fought back the small chuckle that tried to come out. “I need you to tell me why.”

Nathan stood up straight, hands braced on the wall behind him like it was the only thing keeping him upright. “Because I still love you. I think I always have – once I figured out that you hadn’t left me there to die, I could forgive you anything, Tom. I found out from some of the files I could access that there were attempts made to find me. Made by you.” His hands trembled and he pressed them flat against the wall, leaning into them to make them stop.

There was something about the way he said it, something fragile that scared Tom a little. There had been no hesitation in him saying it.

“Well, good,” Tom leaned into him again, pressing his nose against his pulse. He felt more than heard the startled squeak that came from Nathan at the motion and slid his hands up his back, curling his fingers into his shirt. “Because I think we can make this work.”

Nathan’s entire body went still, all of the air punched out of him. Tom could actually smell the pheromones coming off of him – excited and happy and more than a little scared. “I would be happy to,” he whispered.

Both of them turned when someone cleared their throat.

“Agent Foundry,” Tom greeted, clearing his throat as he watched the head of the medical staff standing at the mouth of the hallway, tapping a foot on the floor. “I apologize for not checking out of the medical wing, but there was a slight emergency to be seen to.”

She peered over her glasses at Nathan, then at Tom, then turned on her heel and waved for him to follow.

Hand-in-hand, they did.

**Author's Note:**

> Hopefully someone likes this. I'm aware that my weird headcanons are probably not the cup of tea for everyone. 
> 
> Anyway -- Maybe I'll continue the adventures of Thomas Manning and his werewolf boyfriend Nathan Penning.


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